This is not what either one of us was expecting. It was 4:30 AM on June 2. Our baby girl wasn’t due for just over another month. Sure, I had felt like she may come “early,” but not this soon! The nursery was still a glorified storage room. Hannah’s baby shower was not scheduled for another 3 days. We had no clothes for her, no diapers, not even a car seat to take her home! All of those little things we were going to complete in the next few weeks were left undone. But there was no time to do any of that now. We scrambled around, made arrangements for Moriah, our older daughter, finished packing for the hospital and we were on our way.

Several weeks earlier I began asking God to give me a verse to meditate on through childbirth and in those often-difficult weeks after, when I knew our lives would be changed forever and we’d be navigating through the familiar but somehow distant waters of caring for a newborn and adjusting to a completely different lifestyle on little—if any—sleep. I expected that completely changing our schedule and routine, then going back to work, would require extra strength and a greater measure of peace from God. So I simply made my request known to God for a verse to cling to, maybe something along the lines of “I can do all things through Christ…” I thought about different verses, but nothing clicked. Then one evening a passage came to me very distinctly:

…there was given me a thorn in my flesh,

a messenger of Satan, to torment me.

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.

But he said to me,

“My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

That is why, for Christ’s sake,

delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10

I read the passage again and thought, “Yeah, having a newborn and adjusting is a bit difficult, but I would hardly refer to it as a ‘thorn in the flesh.’ Sounds a bit harsh.” But I knew that this was the passage God gave me, so for several nights before Hannah’s birth, I read it again and again.

Once at the hospital, the nurses confirmed that I was indeed in labor and were very sure to tell us that we were having a baby that day. We were both in shock. Nonetheless, she was on her way. A few hours later, at 10:15 AM, we heard the long awaited cries of our little girl. Due to last minute medications during labor, I was unfortunately quite groggy the first few hours of Hannah’s life. I held her and looked at her, but failed to pick up on the little details of her appearance. I could hardly hear the nurses’ comments as they evaluated her. I remember one nurse asking, “Does she look like your other daughter?” And I answered that no, she had her own distinct look.

A few hours later, as I was trying to recover, the pediatrician came in the room and brought the news that changed us forever. He gently told me that they suspected Hannah has Down Syndrome based upon her features and her weak muscle tone. I was in shock. Down Syndrome? We had no idea. We never imagined we’d be the family with a special needs child.

When Eddie came back to the room, I shared the Doctor’s report with him. Thoughts came rushing through our minds. Tears flowed. Our joy was overshadowed by grief and fear of the future. She’ll never be like other kids. She’ll be made fun of. She won’t go to a typical school, have a normal social life, go to college or get married. Hannah will always be dependent upon us. What will happen when we’re too old to take care of her?

Since then, I’ve thought a lot about those irrational fears. What child comes with a certificate guaranteeing that she will live a successful life, go to college, get married and be independent anyway? I’ve never seen that certain promise at birth yet. Our responsibility as parents is simply to give our kids our best in way of care, training, and teaching and to raise them to know and love God. We simply encourage them to be all they were created to be.

Family came to visit and see her. More tears. More feeling of loss of all the little things we had planned for our child. Wave after wave of grief followed.

It wasn’t until later that evening that I remembered the verse and certain promise God had given me several days earlier:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

“Oh, God, I’ve never felt weaker in my life. I need your strength, your grace,” I prayed through the tears.

Sleep came sporadically that night. I was able to visit Hannah in the NICU just a few times before I was discharged the next day. They had to keep Hannah due to complications arising from her prematurity. Leaving the hospital without a baby was somehow just not right. (And in the weeks to follow, leaving her each day left me feeling like I was never home. Wherever I was—whether with her at the hospital or home with the rest of the family—I was never complete.) When I walked out of the hospital the day after her birth, my heart was still heavy with the news of her diagnosis. I was thankful to have her, but somehow still grieving all the dreams I had for her that would never be realized.

Late that evening, I found myself the only one awake in a quiet house. Seemingly out of nowhere I felt a sudden urge to read the verses God had given me, but in the Message version of the Bible. I don’t often turn to the Message version, but I appreciate its plain, everyday language and way of putting God’s Word into a fresh perspective. As I opened to the passage, I was amazed at the wording:

I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations.

Satan’s angel did his best to get me down;

what he in fact did was push me to my knees…

At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it.

Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough;

it’s all you need.

My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen.

I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift.

It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness.

Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer…

I just let Christ take over!

And so the weaker I get,

the stronger I become.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10 (the Message version, emphasis added)

That instant, I had peace about Hannah’s diagnosis. I knew that her unique and special qualities had been given as a gift, and I should see them as nothing less.

A few days after her birth, I was holding Hannah in her NICU room when the thought occurred to me: I didn’t even know what her name means—I, of all people, who usually obsess over things like this. I, the mother who long before Moriah’s arrival had researched her name and written a poem based upon it’s meaning, could not even think of the meaning of my youngest daughter’s name. A few months before, Eddie and I had deliberated quite a bit over what to name her, and finally agreed that Hannah was perfect. I’m sure in the process I had looked at the meaning. But sitting in the hospital room with her, I was in shock that I could not recall something so important. With her in my arms, I managed to get a hand free and search for the name on my phone. When the results came up, I was in awe.

Hannah means “grace.”

“My grace is sufficient for you…” God had promised.

Whatever the future holds, for every unknown challenge on the road before us, so long as I call Hannah’s name I will have a reminder of God’s promise ever before me. His grace will be enough to meet every challenge. His grace will carry us through the frustrations and strengthen our faith in times of uncertainty. His grace will flow through us and enable us to show grace to those who show ignorance or even cruelty toward her.

And God’s grace will pour out joy upon us as we delight in Hannah’s adorable smile and melt in her hugs. His grace will sing over us as we cheer her on and take pride in her accomplishments.

Most of all, His grace will enable us to fully enjoy the precious gift of our sweet Hannah.

Words From a Father to His Daughter

(From the Makeup Aisle)

As I write this, I’m sitting in the makeup aisle of our local Target store. A friend recently texted me from a different makeup aisle and told me it felt like one of the most oppressive places in the world. I wanted to find out what he meant. And now that I’m sitting here, I’m beginning to agree with him. Words have power, and the words on display in this aisle have a deep power. Words and phrases like:

Affordably gorgeous,

Infallible,

Flawless finish,

Brilliant strength,

Liquid power,

Go nude,

Age defying,

Instant age rewind,

Choose your dream,

Nearly naked, and

Natural beauty.

When you have a daughter you start to realize she’s just as strong as everyone else in the house—a force to be reckoned with, a soul on fire with the same life and gifts and passions as any man. But sitting in this store aisle, you also begin to realize most people won’t see her that way. They’ll see her as a pretty face and a body to enjoy. And they’ll tell her she has to look a certain way to have any worth or influence.

But words do have power and maybe, just maybe, the words of a father can begin to compete with the words of the world. Maybe a father’s words can deliver his daughter through this gauntlet of institutionalized shame and into a deep, unshakeable sense of her own worthiness and beauty.

A father’s words aren’t different words, but they are words with a radically different meaning:

Brilliant strength. May your strength be not in your fingernails but in your heart. May you discern in your center who you are, and then may you fearfully but tenaciously live it out in the world.

Choose your dream. But not from a department store shelf. Find the still-quiet place within you. A real dream has been planted there. Discover what you want to do in the world. And when you have chosen, may you faithfully pursue it, with integrity and with hope.

Naked. The world wants you to take your clothes off. Please keep them on. But take your gloves off. Pull no punches. Say what is in your heart. Be vulnerable. Embrace risk. Love a world that barely knows what it means to love itself. Do so nakedly. Openly. With abandon.

Infallible. May you be constantly, infallibly aware that infallibility doesn’t exist. It’s an illusion created by people interested in your wallet. If you choose to seek perfection, may it be in an infallible grace—for yourself, and for everyone around you.

Age defying. Your skin will wrinkle and your youth will fade, but your soul is ageless. It will always know how to play and how to enjoy and how to revel in this one-chance life. May you always defiantly resist the aging of your spirit.

Flawless finish. Your finish has nothing to do with how your face looks today and everything to do with how your life looks on your last day. May your years be a preparation for that day. May you be aged by grace, may you grow in wisdom, and may your love become big enough to embrace all people. May your flawless finish be a peaceful embrace of the end and the unknown that follows, and may it thus be a gift to everyone who cherishes you.

Little One, you love everything pink and frilly and I will surely understand if someday makeup is important to you. But I pray three words will remain more important to you—the last three words you say every night, when I ask the question: “Where are you the most beautiful?” Three words so bright no concealer can cover them.

Where are you the most beautiful?

On the inside.

From my heart to yours,

Daddy

Like the last letter I wrote to my daughter, I wrote this first for her and the day I’ll eventually read it to her. But I also wrote it for every woman who needs to hear the words of a father. Women, no one else can define your beauty for you. But they’ll try.

My daughter is four years-old now. If her awakening to the makeup aisle comes at the typical age, I figure we have about five years to radically alter the arc of history and the subjugation-by-image of the female gender. We’ve got a lot of work to do. And it begins in the heart of each and every woman.

Disclaimer: My writings represent a combination of my own personal opinions and my professional experiences, but they do not reflect professional advice. Interaction with me via the blog does not constitute a professional therapeutic relationship. For professional and customized advice, you should seek the services of a counselor who can dedicate the hours necessary to become more intimately familiar with your specific situation. I do not assume liability for any portion or content of material on the blog and accept no liability for damage or injury resulting from your decision to interact with the website.

Kelly is a licensed clinical psychologist, practicing at Alliance Clinical Associates in Wheaton, IL. He is also a writer and blogs regularly about the redemption of our personal, relational, and communal lives. Kelly is married, has three children, and enjoys learning from them how to be a kid again. You can find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+.

AMERICAN KIDS: Move out when they’re 18 with the full support of their parents.

ITALIAN KIDS: Move out when they’re 28, having saved enough money for a house,and are two weeks away from getting married….. unless there’s room in the basement for the newlyweds.

AMERICAN KIDS: When their Mom visits them, she brings a Bundt cake, you have coffee, and chat. ITALIAN KIDS: When their Mom visits them, she brings 3 days worth of food, begins to tidy up, dust, do the laundry, and rearrange the furniture.

AMERICAN KIDS: Their dads always call before they come over to visit them, and it’s usually only on special occasions.

ITALIAN KIDS: Are not at all fazed when their dads show up, unannounced, on a Saturday morning at 8:00 am, and start pruning the fruit trees. If there are no fruit trees, he’ll plant some.

AMERICAN KIDS: Always pay retail, and look in the Yellow Pages when they need to have something done.

ITALIAN KIDS: Call their dad or uncle, and ask for another dad’s, or uncle’s, phone number to get it done.

AMERICAN KIDS: Will come over for cake and coffee, and get only cake and coffee. No more. ITALIAN KIDS: Will come over for cake and coffee, and get antipasto, a pasta dish, a choice of two meats, salad, bread, a cannoli, fruit, and espresso.

AMERICAN KIDS: Will greet you with “Hello” or “Hi.” ITALIAN KIDS: Will give you a big hug, a kiss on your cheek, and a pat on your back.